Dickie felt his heart suddenly grow cold and empty within him; then a revulsion came and he burst into tears. Jerry alone was calm, and even radiant. “I’ve been expecting the message,” he quietly returned. “Plase the Lord, I’m ready to die. Dickie, avourneen, don’t sob the heart out ov ye like that. Sure, it’s rejoicing ye ought to be that I’m getting rid of all my troubles and pains at wanst; and, blessed be God, it’s aisy dyin’ when love smooths the pillow. Ye’ve been a true son to me, and my own heart’s blood couldn’t have been affectionater. Pay the gintleman for his trouble, Dickie, aroon, and then run for a praist, for I feel the blackness creeping up on me, and when it covers my heart I’ll be in heaven. The Lord is always good; He’s kept me alive till you got back, Dickie, to take my hand an’ help me over the dark stile.” The doctor would accept of no fee, and Dickie ran off and got a priest, who came and went, leaving Jerry happy and peaceful, with one arm round Dickie’s neck and the other clasping his hand. He had a great deal to tell his young partner, but the most important of all was a strong injunction that he should continue honest and industrious. “There’s some money in the owld snuff-box under my head,” he continued. “I’ve tuck care of it for ye, for ye’ve earned the most of it, and deserved it all. You’ll get all that, and give me a dacent funeral, and keep the rest. It’ll maybe start ye in a better way of doing some day, but if the other way isn’t the straight way, ye’d better pitch the money into the salt say and go on as ye are.” The next morning the blackness crept up on Jerry’s tender heart, and Dickie, still clasping the old man’s hand and wetting it with his tears, helped him over the dark stile, and stood alone in the world. The courage had nearly gone out of Dickie under this blow, but youth is buoyant, hopeful, and active. After laying the head of Jerry in the grave, and paying every one, Dickie found that he had nearly £20 left, all in gold sovereigns, for Jerry had imbibed the national distrust of bank notes. Dickie left the money in safe keeping, and started once more with his grinding machine. It was only when going over his old rounds that he discovered how much Jerry had been beloved and respected—truly another testimony that “honour and shame from no condition rise.” Every one had a good word for his memory, and many a tear was shed as Dickie described his peaceful and courageous end. After another year of this wandering in Ireland, Dickie crossed to Liverpool, and spent a year in England, at the end of which time he sold his grinding machine, and became a hawker of cheap jewellery.